“I want to be a role model”: Portrait of Björn Baggesen

Düsseldorf will be hosting the Invictus Games from September 9 to 16, 2023. Frigate captain Björn Baggesen competed in last year’s Games in The Hague. Ethics and Armed Forces tells his personal “resilience story” about sport as therapy and the importance of the Games.

Saturday, May 13, 2023, 7.30 a.m. Loud beats reverberate through the biathlon arena in Oberhof, Thuringia. Nearly 7000 runners crowd into their starting blocks. In the midst of it all, frigate captain Björn Baggesen and his wife Grit wait for her starting signal. Actually, they had both originally planned to complete the half-marathon today, at the 50th Rennsteig Run – but that’s a longer story. To understand it, we have to go back a few years.

The accident

On August 17, 2016, the day that divides his life into before and after, Björn Baggesen is on his road bike near his home in East Frisia. Triathlon training means speed and tunnel vision. Because the wind keeps pushing him out onto the rain-soaked country road, he cycles along the curb. He doesn’t see the Mercedes parked on the side of the road until it is far too late. He crashes into the rear spoiler at around 35 km/h. He briefly sees himself lying on the road, then loses consciousness.

When he wakes up again, he’s in hospital in Sande with a “complex midface fracture”, i.e. fractures of the cheek and orbital bones. The 12th thoracic vertebra is also fractured. The doctor doesn’t mince his words: “The good news is: you’ve survived.” Which, however, doesn’t exactly say much for his future capabilities. While they might be able to patch him together, the doctor is sure he won’t be able to run more than six kilometers in future.

At first, Baggesen says, he was completely devastated. His initial thought was: “I guess that’s it. What am I going to do now?” There is one thing he is particularly afraid of: going blind. He’s overjoyed when he can see through his swollen eyes for the first time. And it doesn’t take long for him to find the doctor’s prognosis too pessimistic. “I didn’t believe it,” he says. “Not me, I can do it.”

But this conviction is soon put to the test in the coming months. Alone in August 2016 he undergoes three different operations. He is transferred to the Bundeswehr hospital in Hamburg, where his spine is stabilized, his shattered eye-nose area is repaired, and an emergency operation is performed to remove a bone fragment that has come dangerously close to his left optic nerve.

Baggesen doesn’t talk much about this time. One can only guess how he felt. He is grateful to keep his post; but for the time being there is no question of him being fit for shipboard duty. He doesn’t give up, but how can he go on? In Wilhelmshaven, where he is stationed as commander of the BRAVO crew on Frigate 125, he seeks advice from the head of the medical service for the 2nd flotilla. And she has an idea: the Bundeswehr Sports School in Warendorf, North Rhine-Westphalia, provides sports therapy – that could be just the right approach for him.

She’s right: in Colonel Dr. Andreas Lison, the head of sports medicine at Warendorf, Björn Baggesen finds not only someone who shares his passion for endurance sports, but also a doctor and supervisor who confirms his positive attitude. “Forget about the six kilometers. You look pretty good,” Dr. Lison tells him. With two titanium rods and nine screws several centimeters in length in his back, he is admitted to the sports therapy program in November 2016.

Carrot and stick approach

His training group is a “mixed bunch”, as he calls it. And that’s not without reason at Warendorf. Because everyone has different ailments, everyone receives individualized treatment. This is precisely what Baggesen sees as an advantage: the fact that the entire group doesn’t fixate on one problem in particular such as post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Although everyone “carries a lot of baggage,” they are all in the same boat and can support each other and bring different perspectives to the table. The visible expression of this situation: Everyone wears sports gear – there are no uniforms or rank insignia here.

There is one aspect that Baggesen deems to be particularly important: therapy is not about feeling sorry for yourself or your comrades. “There’s no place for pity here,” he says. If you act like that, you might as well go home. Instead, the focus is on the future, away from your own limitations and toward what everyone wants to and can achieve. “You’ll probably have to buy a new road bike,” Dr. Lison tells him – the old one was no longer usable.

At Warendorf, he takes advantage of the wide range of sports on offer, sharing ideas with his coaches and drawing up training plans with them. As in any good managerial process, they set individual targets with their patients – sporting as well as mental or nutritional; everything can be important. Baggesen also signs his first target agreement to improve his performance capability and prepare for the upcoming surgery. “In three months,” it says, “I want to reach a personal score of at least 25,000 points in my training diary.” To achieve this, he has to do regular strength and fitness exercises. He also commits to losing at least 2.5 kg over the next six months.

At Warendorf, but especially at home, the work gets underway in the three months between the sports medical check-ups to test his performance: changing the diet, completing the sports program, documenting the training status. And sticking with it. “It gives you a tool that you can use for yourself,” says Baggesen. But it also requires personal toughness, he adds. Of course, goals are reviewed to see if they are realistic. “But if someone consistently misses their targets, eventually they’re out.” He himself has seen a comrade leave the group because of this.

But for Björn Baggesen, it “clicked in his head,” as he puts it. The therapy embraces everything he brings with him – his sporting ambition and his conviction that he can achieve more than others believe he is capable of. Above all, it gives the whole thing a framework; he gets professional advice and the confidence he needs. He regularly surpasses his targets and quickly regains his fitness.

In June 2017, less than a year after the accident, he completes his first triathlon

In June 2017, less than a year after the accident, he completes his first triathlon. When he stands at the start in Lübeck, he still has the stabilizers in his back. Fortunately, he says, he has never had any pain with them. But soon after he has to go under the knife again: the metal parts are removed. He has eleven operations in total. Despite this, he continues to train and compete in races, including a 70.3 Ironman in 2018 on the island of Rügen; he now works for Navy Command in Rostock. Before that, he reaches another important milestone: by January 2018 he is fit enough for shipboard duty, enabling him to return to his post as commander of the DELTA crew. Standing in front of the crew again as a role model, showing that you can come back – that’s what motivated him, says Baggesen. But there’s one thing he’s sure of: “I couldn't have done any of this without Dr. Lison.”

An offer too good to refuse

In 2019, he is back in Warendorf for performance diagnostics when his supervisors from the sports therapy group approach him: Would you like to take part in the Invictus Games in The Hague?

First they have to explain to him what the Games are all about. He’s never heard of them before. And his initial inclination is to say no: after all, he wasn’t disabled while on active service, and surely there are more suitable candidates? But he’s made to understand that this is not how it works. They want to see him, who has completed his rehab so consistently, at the start. Also as an incentive for others.

Then comes a prolonged lean spell. The games are postponed twice because of the coronavirus pandemic. What’s more, he isn’t able to prepare properly. For personal reasons, he has in the meantime accepted an advisory post at the Federal Ministry of Defense in Berlin. The conditions in Rostock, with the familiar swimming pool on the doorstep and the running track around the corner, are all missing here. In 2022, when The Hague is finally ready to host the Games, he travels to the Netherlands with around 20 athletes and the support team to represent Germany at the Invictus Games from April 16 to 22. However, he has been in much better shape before.

Nevertheless, Björn Baggesen’s sporting performance at the Invictus Games could not be better. He reaches the finals in both the cycling and swimming events, and in the pool he swims the 50m freestyle in 31 seconds and the 100m in 1:18 minutes – both new personal best times.

And in the end that’s what really matters at the Games, he says: that everyone does their best, or at least makes every effort. Who ends up where in the medals table is irrelevant. The Games are, of course, a contest – “but in the end, everyone stands with their head held high.” Because they gave it their all. Because they have shown themselves and others what they are capable of. Whether it’s three or six meters in the long jump.

In The Hague, he experiences much of what he already knows from sports therapy in a concentrated form. Pride in his own achievements. The joy in others’ achievements. The mutual support. The uninhibited way people get along with one another. One person may be missing an arm, another both legs. So what? “That’s just the way it is,” says Baggesen. And then words fail him when he tells us about David, the U.S. soldier whose legs were amputated on both sides to just below the waist. How well and quickly he swam. How proud his parents sitting next to him were. How they cried when he gave them a commemorative medallion. “I didn’t think it would affect me so emotionally,” he says.

Above all, he’s glad he didn’t turn down the chance to take part. He would have missed out on a lot. The confirmation that the mental aspect is the most important thing. Meeting patron Prince Harry and his wife Meghan, who mingle with the athletes and also take an interest in those accompanying them. “Absolutely authentic and charismatic,” says Björn Baggesen.

At the Invictus Games, it’s not so much the story of suffering that counts, but what you can and want to achieve

Here, at the Invictus Games, it’s not so much the story of suffering that counts, but what you can and want to achieve. Björn Baggesen admits that this may be difficult to understand for those who are not affected themselves. Nevertheless – or perhaps precisely for that reason – he believes that the Games and the issues they highlight deserve a much higher profile in the Bundeswehr, politics, and the public eye. The fact that some who go on missions for their country do not come back safely. The fact that there are so many rehabilitation and therapy services that he himself has benefited from. “I hope the Invictus Games will have a lasting impact,” says Baggesen. Whether the motto is “A Home for Respect” or whatever, it doesn’t matter to him. Something else seems much more important to him: that this “home” remains open even after the Invictus Games are over again.

Functioning as a team

He admits that the sports therapy and the Games were also a learning process for him. In particular, he struggled with PTSD symptoms. At one point during the Invictus Games there was a loud bang and a poster fell over. “Immediately two people took cover,” he says. “But then you take them aside and say: It’s okay, do you need any help?” Therapists were even present at the opening and closing ceremonies, where there was loud clapping, he says. He now realizes how difficult it must be to find your feet again in a post when dealing with such symptoms and fears. “And then when someone stands there with a mindset like I used to have, and says: Stop moaning and get on with your job? I don’t think it’s that simple.”

Not to mention the “Family & Friends”, as family members and supporters are known in the Invictus Games parlance. All those close to the traumatized and injured, they’re the ones who ultimately go through the most. The spouses, but also the children, who often have to make their own sacrifices and can develop their own anxieties as a result. Björn Baggesen also knows this from stories told by his wife Grit, who herself works as a trauma counsellor, including in the ASEM pastoral care program for people suffering from the consequences of military deployments, and is familiar with such secondary traumatization. “The families can’t possibly cope on their own,” she says. Instead of well-intentioned platitudes they need support, space – and recognition. Like at the Invictus Games, where family and friends are also acknowledged, or at the reception held at the Federal Ministry of Defense in April 2023, where Boris Pistorius presented everyone – the athletes and their families – with a medallion. This event meant something to both.

Björn Baggesen says that those affected must also understand that they are not lone warriors

Björn Baggesen says that those affected must also understand that they are not lone warriors. You shouldn’t focus on your sport and neglect everything else, nor should you expect those close to you to constantly motivate you or put up with you. During his first time in Berlin, when he couldn’t train, he fell into a rut and even got a little sick. His wife pulled him out of it and gave him tips on how to build up new routines. He has now got into the habit of doing stability exercises with push-ups and yoga elements right after getting up at 5:30 a.m. It’s no fun, he says – but without that grueling morning workout, he ends up paying the price a few days later.

So that the focus isn’t always on just one person, Björn and Grit Baggesen have come up with what they jokingly call a “lose-lose situation”. On a regular basis, one of them plans something out of the ordinary, a sporting goal that challenges both of them. For example, Grit, a competitive athlete herself and a long-time member of the national free-diving team, organized a trip to Finland last year. Ice diving under a frozen lake, 20 meters in 4-degree cold water, from one self-drilled hole to another. The preparation alone was a horror for him, Björn Baggesen recounts. But he got through it. Last year he got his revenge with an Olympic triathlon at Lake Werbellin. This is also how the idea came about to compete together in the half-marathon at the Rennsteig Run this year.

Five days in intensive care

On April 26, 2023, just before the race, the twelfth operation is scheduled. A final operation on the paranasal and frontal sinuses, a minor matter compared with what he has already endured. But there are complications, his oxygen levels suddenly deteriorate. Apparently, water had got into his lungs. At the insistence of his wife, he is transferred to the intensive care unit, where he is placed on a ventilator like a Covid patient. The doctors are not sure whether he will make it. On the first evening, says Grit Baggesen, she was told that it could be “touch and go” that night.

But things turn out well. After five days, Baggesen is able to leave the intensive care unit. And a week later, he is fit enough to accompany his wife to the Rennsteig Run. “Run for me,” he told her. “Don’t give up, or everything will be about me again.”

At the Rennsteig Run on May 13, Björn Baggesen has meanwhile arrived in Schmiedefeld to pick up Grit after the half-marathon. On the sports field, which has been converted into a finish area, there is a festival atmosphere with the smell of bratwurst and beer. When they meet up again among the thousands of exhausted, sweaty runners and spectators, he gives his wife, who ran a personal best of 2:17 hours today, a big hug. It’s a win-win situation.